All That I'm Living For
by Xed14thKey
Summary: .::It wasn't her fault that she became bad. It was theirs. She wasn't loved:: **Raemond's ::Xed's Somebody:: story, 1st POV, rated for sad, possibly disturbing themes/content** ***BRING ME TO LIFE prequal***
1. No Happily Ever Afters

**This is the story of Raemond, the Somebody of Xed and Xradenom. She, like them, is my OC and belongs to me, so no stealing her. It's going to take a while to get to the point where her story ties into the KH plot, so please be patient. Thank you.**

**I also recommend reading '**Bring Me To Life**', which is the story of what happens after this story. You can wait until this is done, or you could read it now and make guesses as to what happens in this story. Whatever floats your boat.**

**The title, **All That I'm Living For**, is inspired by the song written by Evanescence. I suggest you go listen to it.**

**Thank you, and enjoy.**

_**~ Xed (aka, authoress) **_

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I never gave much thought as to what dying would feel like.

Sure, many times I would dream of death. Want it, crave it, desire it… But the actual _dying_…it never occurred to me to think of that. And, although I was sure I wasn't dead, not yet, anyways, this was probably as close to the feeling as I would get to experience. At least for now, anyways.

People believe that, when you're dying, your life flashes before your eyes. You get to see all your accomplishments, all our regrets, all your loved ones…

The life that flashed before mine was blurred with pain and sadness and anger.

Some life, huh?

I wish I could tell you a happy tale. One with a little girl that was loved dearly, who had tons of friends and people who cared about her. Who never had to grow up feeling pain of any kind, to never have to feel lonely and afraid. And she would grow up happy and healthy, dreaming of her prince charming and her future, and always imagining her life would end '…and she lived happily ever after.'

But that'd be a lie. I almost want to laugh thinking about it. Almost.

No…my story is of a sad, painful nightmare that you can't wake up from. It's about abuse and neglect and loneliness. It's about being different, about revenge, about crime and punishment. It's about a bad guy and all the bad things she did. And it's about me.

But perhaps I'm getting too far ahead of myself. It'd only be fair if I laid the pieces out for you, so you could line them up yourself. Because at the moment I don't feel like I could. I don't have that strength.

So, I apologize in advance if you're disappointed that this won't be a fairytale. But this isn't fantasy; it's an ugly, brutal truth. But, if you're still interested, I can tell you it all. In fragments, in pieces, in memories that I wish would all just go away. And maybe, if you stick around until the end, you might learn something.

And so here it is. The story, of a girl named Raemond. Destined to be nothing, to be a nothing. And I'll tell you right now.

There's no 'happily ever after' for me.

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**Short first chapter, I know. Please leave a review if you're interested in reading more, or if you see something I should fix, etc. And please, don't go flaming me about having an OC that's all mary-sue-ish and 'overly flawed/unlucky'. Save it for someone who cares, which ISN'T me. **


	2. The Second is Always The Hardest

**I'm sorry for making ya'll wait so long :( But school's over so regular updates are coming! Yay! :D**

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I remember the first time I ever had to take a heart.

It was in some shady world that not too many people visited. I remember dark clouds looming above; He was almost ready to collapse the world, but I was to steal a few hearts, first. Prove my worth.

I found this kid…this little boy, about eight or nine years old. He was kinda tall, though, with a messy mass of short, reddish-brown hair. I really liked that color. I wish my hair was that color.

I had him backed up in a corner, and he was shaking pretty badly. I'd be scared too. I raised my sword (which He had infused with his dark powers so that I could draw hearts instead of instantly killing them) high above my head.

I'll never forget the look in his eyes. The amount of fright in them had so much power I can't even remember what color or what size they were.

And then I stabbed down, deep into his chest.

And I will never, ever, forget that scream.

For even a heartless being as I was, I cringed visibly. The sound was so sharp, so shrill, and so full of inexplicable and undeniable pain that I think tears came to my eyes. It was such a loud, loud scream…when I think real hard about it today; I can still hear it echoing in my ears. It was the saddest, heartbreaking sound I had ever heard: the sound of a person who had just lost the one thing that had kept them alive. And the power I felt by tearing out his heart, the guilt boring deep in my mind, the blood pouring onto the cold, dead ground below…none of that truly haunted me. Just his scream.

I think it's because it reminded me of mine.

000

_It was an unusually cold November night on my island._

_I was a little kid, then, about six years old, seated in the backseat of my parent's car. I wasn't wearing a seatbelt, because I was little and I had never been taught how to use one. My parents didn't fasten me in, either. Which was fine with me; whenever we drove, I liked sitting with my legs folded under me so that I was tall enough to look out the window. _

_I loved car rides. I liked the way the lines on the street blurred, how the trees whipped by almost endlessly, and how the clouds had to race to keep up with us. When it was cold out, I liked breathing on the window to make it foggy, so that I could draw with my finger pictures and smiley faces and hearts into the white film. I also liked writing words, too (even though I could never figure out how come the words looked right inside the car, but when I went outside they were all backwards. I figured it was magic)._

_We rode down to a restaurant together. Actually, it was more of a bar than a restaurant. And actually, it was more like I asked to tag along. My parents often left me at home when they went to go eat dinner, and I always felt left out. They took me along so I'd stop whining._

_When we arrived, they clambered inside while I tottered after them. They immediately went into the dimmed drinking section, but a lady with pretty orange hair stopped me from going in after them. She set up a little table for me and talked with me until my parents were done. When that time came about an our later, they staggered outside, and I ran after them._

_(Allow me to explain one quick thing: my parents were perpetually drunk. I've never seen them fully and normally sober before. It, at the time, was a normal thing and I always believed their drunkenness was all a silly game. When they weren't completely drunk they were hung-over, snappish, and mean. I liked them better drunk)_

_They were giggling to each other and saying stuff in a weird, slurred way that I couldn't make out. I smiled and giggled myself. I wanted to play too._

_My mother opened the front door, while I watched my father open the back door shakily and climb in._

"_G-get isnnshh, girle!"_

_She was talking to no one, really, but I knew she meant me. I expressed my happiness in a squeal and clapped my hands; I was never allowed in the front seat, but when my parents were wasted they didn't care how unsafe it was and that I was three times smaller than them. I quickly hopped inside while my mother slammed the door shut without bothering to put my seat belt (at the time I didn't care – more window time for me – but I never had imagined it'd cost me everything). She jumped in herself, started the car and we drove off._

_I had never been in a car with my parents while they were drunk before. It was an odd ride, full of swerving, skidding, and other cars honking at us, all while my parents were giggling and singing in a drunken language I couldn't understand. We made a lot of odd, scary turns that made me grip the seat tightly, but I didn't say anything. I knew it wouldn't do much good._

_All of the sudden, there was this overbearing blaring light blinding me, appearing from nowhere out of the darkness. There was this unbelievably loud horn sound, and I screamed in fear. But the sound was too loud, and they weren't listening to me anyway._

_Then, metal and glass erupted before my eyes. The front window shattered as the front of the car crumbled like thin, fragile paper. The vehicle shook and thrashed violently, as the smell of smoke and copper filled my nose._

_Then I was suddenly flying._

_And all I could feel was this painfully cold feeling in my chest._

_And then fire._

_And then I screamed._

_The pain hadn't even registered in my mind yet and I was screaming already. It was all I could do. My body felt numb and cold but there was this fiery eruption in my chest. I think I may've been writhing but I don't really remember it. It was the most intense hurt I had ever felt (and to this day it's still the worse) in my entire life._

_I think I was still screaming even when the world grew black for me._

000

Yeah. That's probably why it still bothers me to this day, even as I'm in the way I am now. His scream was just like mine. And every time I think about either of ours I can feel that fire inside me flare up.

I remember that I turned around, after the boy had faded away, and looked up at Him. He nodded his approval, grinning wickedly, and flicked his eyes towards another alleyway, where a man was running towards to seek safety from the chaos swirling around him.

I could feel my throat become hoarse, as my heart sank a little.

I wasn't looking forward to hear another scream.

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**Done at last! I'm pretty sure no one is even reading this anymore…but I'm finishing this for me, and for anyone interested. Any and all reviews are welcome and appreciated.**


	3. Perpetually Missing You

I was born into this universe as Raemond Sirson.

I'm almost positive I was born on the 4th of January, 1993. We never really celebrated my birthday, for as long as I can remember. But I've heard it mentioned before, so I guess I'll just have to trust that.

It's strange, how memories are. I think that most people value childhood for the reason that it holds all of our innocent, precious memories. Our first walks, our first words, our first days of school… Our earliest memories are supposed to be our happiest.

But mine aren't. And I envy those who can't remember theirs.

My mother was Matilda Sirson. My father was Rinaldo Sirson.

Every little kid has their moments where they claim they hate their parents. I'm living that now, and every day. I hate them terribly. They were, without a doubt, the worst parents a kid could ever have. They drank constantly, and went out for days while leaving me home all by myself. They smoked all the time. I can still smell it the stench, if I try. They totally ignored me, neglected me and my needs. I learned at a very early age that, if I were scared or crying, not to go to my mother or father to seek any kind of comfort. And I learned to avoid them when they were sober, unless I wanted to be screamed at and hit.

Yet, as young as I was, I didn't know any better. I still cried at their funeral.

But now I understand how horrible they were, and I've developed a deep sense of hate. And I don't miss them at all.

…no, wait…wait…that's a lie. There has been, one time, that I can remember consciously missing them…

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_A quiet, sad sniffle. "E-excuse me, l-lady?"_

_I was walking alone, down the slightly bustling street at a carnival on my island. I didn't really know why I was there. I had no one to go with, and no Munny to spend. I just kinda liked watching everyone else have the fun I couldn't. At least I could try to imagine enjoying myself, too. But it never was enough._

_I looked down, to the source of the sound. At my side was a little girl, no more than four or five years of age. She was hugging a Moogle plushie tightly to her chest, her blue eyes watery and red from crying._

_She asked me, "H-Have you seen my M-Mommy and Daddy?"_

_It was rather crowded, with people everywhere; a very easy place to get lost in._

_A little piece of my heart ached, as I tore myself away from her gaze and looked to the pebbled ground below our feet. I couldn't help her. I could barely help myself._

_Have you seen mine?_

000

When she asked me to help her, I simply couldn't. I just realized how similar we were. I was lost, just like she was.

I was alone, on my own. Gone astray. Lost.

And for that tiny, tiny moment in time, I wanted my mother and father back.

They could scream all they wanted, hit me all they liked, drank and smoked until they keeled over. But at that small fraction of my life, it would've meant the world to me to just see them, horrible but alive, for just one last time. I didn't care, right then, that I might've as well wished for the devil. I didn't care they were bad.

I just wanted to stop this lost feeling deep in my soul. I just wanted them back.

But of course, wishes can never come true.

As time went on, the lost feeling went away. I tried to toughen up, to shut out that vague imagine of disorientation, but it was very difficult. It was like trying to coercively close a wound: near impossible. But I did it.

However, even though I stitched that wound up tight, sewed all the edges together, and taped them shut…

Sometimes, if I'm not careful, I'll start to feel lost again.

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**Aw….sadness :(**


	4. What Goes Up

I learned at a very young age that the world is generous to a fault.

It takes most people until their teenage years or even older to come to that realization. I guess I just got lucky and saw it then. Then again, how could I not?

Everyone and everything has a motive. They have their own goals, their own schemes, their own plans, and their own ideas. And if you're not a part of that, you are thought of as an inconvenience. You are swept away to the side, or put on a list. Either way, you'll be helped when it works in favor of the 'helper'.

The world only gives when they receive.

My parents died in the accident. It was coming; you knew it was. I didn't have a lot of other family. My father had a brother, who had his own family of a wife and one child. Their names were Adam and Alison Sirson, and their daughter was Timari, who was nine at the time. Being orphaned, I thought that, the most sensible thing would be to live with my Uncle. But they said they couldn't afford to take care of another child (which is funny, because my Uncle would brag about how much Munny he was making at his job), so I was turned over to a foster home.

There, I was adopted by a couple, which couldn't have kids on their own.

The first thing the lady did was hug me tightly and promise everything would be okay.

And as soon as she had me in that tight embrace, I felt loved.

And for the first time I felt true, conscious happiness with no string attached. It was a wonderful feeling, to be cared about and wanted. The next time I would feel this elated was with him.

That man…made me feel like that.

000

_It was a huge place. I would later come to know it as Traverse Town._

_Even though it had no clear, open skies, and no vast beaches, I felt as if the world around me would stretch on forever._

_As I walked around, the streets were dark and the alleyways were darker. Nothing like my island. There, the darkness was soothing, normal. Here it was disturbing. There were a bunch of shops and a few hotels, but something about this place was lacking stability. It wasn't a welcome place to be in, and I felt like I wanted to leave. No one was really around, but the people I walked by which were outside gave me these condescending looks…as if they were better than me or something. It turned my eyes to the ground and tried not to look up to avoid them._

_I was absolutely lost; alone and afraid, but no one seemed welcoming. No one looked concerned, and no one looked like they wanted to help me. I was afraid to ask._

_I found myself wandering deeper into this world, away from people and the street lights and the noise and into a colder, quieter part of the town._

_And then I felt this chilling presence behind me, and I turned around to greet it._

_And there he was._

_A tall man with long, silver hair and soulless aqua eyes. His garb was of which I have never seen before, but what caught my attention almost immediately was the single black-feathered wing protruding from his back._

_I would later come to know him as Sephiroth._

_From the moment I laid eyes on him, even when I felt him there, behind me, I knew he was bad. Evil, even. The kind of evil you would only see in movies and read about in books. He was a terrible, horrible man, and I could detect all that without having known him for more than a few minutes. There was something radiating from within him that was dark yet alluring, devious yet trust worthy._

_"You are lost."_

_His voice was dark as well. It wasn't a question; more like a statement. Confirmation. I could only nod._

_"I will help you."_

_Despite his words, I knew there were strings attached. I knew better than anyone else that nothing in life was free. That, and I could see the compromise in his eyes. Yet, he was the first person to offer me even the slightest hint of generosity in a very long time. And I truly appreciated that._

_He taught me many things. I learned how to fight (which was empowering for me), how to defend, and how to look after myself out here. I learned that I was in a world far different than mine, and that life was going to be much harder. I learned that, if I showed the slightest hint of weakness, I would be destroyed out here. And in return for this knowledge, I was to assist him in a search for another man. I once questioned why, but he didn't answer me. I figured not to ask again._

_And although I didn't realize the position I was in, I was still truly grateful that he, in a town of people, in a world of people, offered me a little help._

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It was then I got my first taste of being bad. Of being evil.

I knew exactly what I was doing. And I didn't care. I had power, for once. I was strong, for once. I was in control, for once.

However, what goes up…

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**…must come down.**

**Reviews are still appreciated…as if anyone cares…**


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